Angels Always Speak German, It's Tradition: A Dangerous Method (2011)

While I had seen a few David Cronenberg films well before I had decided to "get into him" as a filmmaker, it was around June of last year that I finally encountered him as a director proper and slowly notched his oeuvre off of my needs to be seen list.  Considering that yesterday was his birthday and that I had A Dangerous Method delivered the other day via Netflix, it seemed far to serendipitous an opportunity not to take.  I am aware that there has been a sort of tapering off of the love for Cronenberg by his fandom as his films have move far away from their more gore inspired roots to something that at first glance seems to be cerebral and less physically affective.  I can see the confusion for certain, but I am also wholly aware that body gore and affect do not need a visual component to work wonders.  Indeed, it is with almost perfect precision that Cronenberg is able to take the deeply psychological and disturbing elements of the interior and make them work on the body without really showing the gore he has become synonymous with the director.  Sure there are some deeply graphic scenes and the film is disconcerting, but this is Cronenberg moving in a new direction, after all as of yesterday the man is seventy one years old!  To make The Fly or Scanners is simply not his world anymore, like most directors (Tarantino excluded) maturity brings forth a new look at the world and a far more introspective execution in his films.  Hell, even Michael Bay seems to be moving in this direction and it should be no surprise that it occurs with the master of gore.  If one is looking for film to affect them on a deep level, then Cronenberg is continuing to succeed in a way few are and were he not being overcome by the likes of Paul Thomas Anderson and David Fincher, I would be prepared to argue that he is one of the most important directors working today, but at seventy one to be mentioned in the same breath as the former filmmakers is a success all its own.

A Dangerous Method focuses on the work and life of Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) as he continues to establish himself in the field of psychoanalysis, despite having to do so under the rather intense and broad shadow of Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen).  Although, Jung knows that this is a near impossibility when he is provided with the patient and prospective psychoanalyst Sabrina Spielrein (Keira Knightley) things change drastically.  A frantic and disheveled woman, Spielrein, nonetheless, proves a counterpoint to so many of Freud theories, completely throwing the theorists understanding of abject desire and erotic fixation out the window.  Jung begins pouring his entire studies into working with Spielrein, while also guiding her along in her endeavors.  This act comes at the frustration and anxiety of Jung's wife Emma (Sarah Gordon) who is busy attempting to provide the doctor with a son, the only way in which to assure that his name will continue to possess legitimacy and avoid the existential fear of losing one's name.  Yet, this seems to be of the most minor concern to Jung, who finds the navigation between patient learning and desire for Spielrein to become less and less clear, particularly when she begins making advances towards him, seeing his role as authority figure and teacher, overlapping with her own problematic relationship with her father.  It is not until Jung is given another psychoanalyst turned mentally ill patient in Otto Gross (Vincent Cassell) that things change.  Gross argues that Jung must engage in relationships with his patients in order to assure that he will become happy and better achieve a relationship.  Blinded by his already repressed desire, Jung takes Gross's ill-offered advice to heart and begins a relationship with Spielrein, one that puts his familial relations at odds and eventually leads to his contentious and troubling confrontations with Freud.  Finally, believing he has become friends with Freud, Jung offers up his dreams for interpretation, hoping to receive the same in return.  When this does not happen, Jung questions the entire structure of authority, although this happens far too late to solve things with either Spielrein or his family, instead, Jung pours everything into work and solitary studies.

If one were to extract the psychosexual element at play in this film, it would read as pretty much another period piece of desire, lust and repression in a time of hyper-conservative conformity.  There have been other films about the era of psychoanalysis, but the limitations of censorship often cause them to be confused and lost in safe narrative construction.  Cronenberg, as most know, has always pushed the boundaries and buttons of censors, using giant bugs and non-linear narrative to make one of the greatest examinations of repressed sexual identities in modern cinema.  Here, he is dealing with the perverse and in no small way he does so with it expressly meaning to shock.  Under the guise of the cold medical rhetoric, Cronenberg is able to talk about the most uncomfortable of human functions in banal terms.  When the psychoanalysts talk of the various fixations, many of which involve relieving oneself, the overlay of Jung consuming things makes a clear connection that human bodies are subject to exchanges that are in a constant ebb and flow.  It is not so much an act of pleasure in the context of this film as it is replacing voids that are physically lost.  Cronenberg takes the guise of excretion and argues that it is in these basic human desires that psychoanalysis seems to be replicating a mental understanding of something physical.  It is heady academic theory and at this point has become more a point of literary consideration than anything certifiable, indeed, most psychologist just teach it as a point of historical curiosity.  Where Cronenberg seems to relish most in regards to narrative is within a consideration of authority, it is in this space that he seems to find the body at a loss, a surprising moment for Cronenberg, who had prior tied the body to the world of television and video games.  In the space of this narrative the body is a thing that can only be punished by authority, because rewards are seemingly less physical and far more cerebral.  The basest of human desires often coming in as, again, fillers for hopes of approval.  In the vague and dreary endings that have come to signify the filmmakers works, desolation and ennui fill characters who are blindly hoping for something far grander, but still linger on the failure and limitations of the body.

Key Scene:  I was initially hesitant to embrace Knightley's performance as it seemed to be very Oscar-baity, however, one scene involving her recollecting a dream to Jung where she is in the foreground and he in the background.  It is deeply intense and cinematically engaging.

I rented this, but intend to buy it soon.  However, it is a different kind of Cronenberg than most expect, so I would suggest doing the same before pulling the trigger on a purchase.

Women Make The Best Psychoanalysts, Until They Fall In Love: Spellbound (1945)

I enjoy doing blogathons, first because it proves a great way to extend my voice beyond the rather small crowd of readers hear at the blog and engage in dialogue with fellow film bloggers on great works of cinema.  The result is often a greater, of not completely new, understanding of a work, or awareness to a work I would never have come across prior.  Second, I also enjoy these blogathons, because, thus far, they have provided me wonderful opportunities to revisit some of my favorite films.  Michael and Jill's TCM Summer Under the Stars blogathon has already allowed me to re-watch the zany The Blob much to my elation.  This second post for the month, in correlation with TCM's day devoted to Gregory Peck afforded me a chance to revisit my favorite Hitchcock film Spellbound.  Considering that it has been some time since I had seen the film and have certainly been able to pad out my Hitchcock blind spots to varying degrees since, I can still say that this film is undoubtedly and unequivocally my favorite, indicative not only of the elements that have led to Hitchcock become the first definitive auteur, but also some of the ways in which Spellbound, a work decidedly entrenched within psychoanalytic narratives, manages to reject the subject matter and visual innuendos made ever so infamous by the late director.  I know that there are quantifiably better, indeed perfect, works by Hitchcock, but given that Hitchcock is clearly poking fun at himself affords this film a layer of detached irony that is less clear in his later works, not to mention the use of Ingrid Bergman, who also happens to be my favorite actress.  Pairing the great leading lady with the equally adept Gregory Peck results in a narrative that flows with intensity and earnestness that makes its winding deceit and dreamlike trance accessible.  Hitchcock wrote the texts on modern horror and thriller filmmaking and it is all on display to great effort in Spellbound, right down to the jarring last scenes in all their erie impossibility.  If all of this is not enough to sell the skeptics out there, may I remind you that Salvador Dali helped create the dream sequence for which this film is most well-known, and its very existence challenges even the most liberal understanding of cinematic possibility.

Spellbound focuses primarily on the experiences of Dr. Constance Peterson (Ingrid Bergman) a psychoanalyst, whose identification as a woman has proved both advantageous and hindering in her movement upward in the unconventional science.  The retirement of her boss and mentor Dr. Murchinson (Leo G. Carroll) proves quite troublesome, only to be extenuated by the immediate arrival of his replacement in Anthony Edwards (Gregory Peck) whose text on guilt and the labyrinth is a particular favorite of Constance's.  Hoping to stick to her guns and remain focused on her work, an initial dinner meeting between Constance and Anthony leads to obvious sexual tension that results in Constance finding herself creating excuses just to meet the new doctor, an encounter that assumedly leads to sex rather early.  It is during this meeting that Constance realizes that all might not be well with Anthony, particularly when he passes out after looking at the shadows of her robe, clearly breaking into some bizarre psychosis in the process.  The next day news comes of Antony Edwards not being alive and well, but dead after a murder, a picture affirming that he is in no way the person present in the psychiatric hospital.  Kowtowing to the suspicion, the false Anthony flees in fear, only to be followed by Constance to a hotel in New York, where it is revealed that the man, now going by John Brown, believes himself to somehow be tied to the murder of the real Anthony Edwards.  This allegation, Constance believes, is a result of mental deterioration and does not result in truth.  Committing to the act of helping John, whose last name is later revealed to be Ballentine, Constance helps the mentally troubled man discover that his fear of shadows and lines, comes from an unfortunate experience during skiing when he witness the real Edwards die inexplicably, a vision that opens up a repressed memory from his childhood involving a fatal accident with his brother.  Despite creating a rather clear psychoanalytic picture of Ballentine, Constance is stifled when authorities find a gun wound in the dead Edwards, to which neither have an explanation.  Despite Ballentine's being jailed, Constance continues her search for the truth, discovering that a little more than passing memories led to the death of Edwards and the psychological decay of Ballentine.  Indeed, foul play was afoot from the onset.

Let's talk about sex.  If this were any other film by Hitchcock, that would likely be the appropriate way to begin a critical analysis, and considering that this particular work makes it clear that it is pulling from the theories of Freud it would seem obvious to do just that, however, Spellbound may well be the least psychoanalytically inclined of his films.  Sure there are moments that would make even Freud blush, the fork and knife scene at the initial meeting between Ballentine and Constance being an obvious example, not to mention the surrealist touch with Dali's involvement.  Yet, none of this suggest a film where repressed memories are the result of wild navigations through the world, such as are the case in Vertigo, nor do the crimes take on a degree of sexual supplanting, as occurs in Dial M for Murder or Rope.  Beginning the film with a quote from Shakespeare, Hitchcock creates a film that centers the blame for crime and violence in the individual, further suggesting that their actions are not results of deeply entrenched psychological issues from one's youth, but a result of frivolous jealousy and assertions of lost masculine privilege.  For what may be the only time in Hitchcock's filmic career, a criminal act occurs, simply out of criminal intent.  That is not to say that the film does not extend on to explore psychological issues in other ways.  Take for example its look at the character of Constance, which is highly problematic by contemporary standards.  Considering that Hitchcock was quite invested in the world of the subconscious, his desire to degrade women is nothing new, except here it is particularly verbal and highly against their place in a career that would afford them authority.  Constance is played up to be good at her job, unless of course a dashing man enters the picture, at this point she loses all sense of rationality and is willing to forgive a man of murder (albeit correctly) on his word alone.  Guilt also figures prominently into the film, whether it be the falsified guilt of Ballentine early on or the very real guilt that faces the killer in the films next to last scene that involves one of the most haunting uses of point-of-view camera work in cinema to date, all adds up to the suggestion that what is ultimately the worst about murdering, or believing that one did so, is not the act, but the inability to get over doing so at a later time.  To be void of such guilt, would make one a Psycho...which is a discussion for a different blogathon.

Key Scene:  While I wanted to be unique and go against the obvious choice, one cannot help but adore that dream sequence designed by Dali.  It is the close a viewer will ever get to seeing what it would have looked like were Hitchcock to have worked in the era of German Expressionism and surrealism.

There are blurays of this available in multiple box sets, or individually.  There is also a Criterion DVD that is OOP, which is how I watched it, as such I will let you decide how to track this movie down, but I will note that it is worth doing so in the near future.  The movie is an absolute must see work.  As before I am grateful to Sittin' on a Backyard Fence and ScribeHard on Film for being able to participate in the TCM Summer Under the Stars blogathon.

Exterminate All Rational Thought: Naked Lunch (1991)

I am both regretting, as well as beginning to appreciate the #100filmsforJune marathon I have decided to undertake along with a ton of other members on Letterboxd.  I am regretful because it is proving to be an incredibly daunting and time-consuming process, especially considering that I am trying to avoid repeat viewings per the stipulations of the marathon.  However, it has thus far afforded me an opportunity to catch up with a few blind spots within my film literacy a problem that I hope will be noticeably altered by the end of the month.  One such blind spot for me, as mentioned with my previous post concerning Sunshine, is that of underrated or overlooked science fiction films, which made a viewing such as Naked Lunch excellent, primarily because it falls within the confines of lesser known science fiction, while also affording me the very welcomed opportunity to fill in a gap on my desired viewing list with the psychosexual madness of yet another Cronenberg film.  While I would not say that Cronenberg hits every work out of the park, I do find most of his choices engaging and, at times, deeply profound.  Works like Videodrome and Existenz have become staples of consumerist fears and the detachment of the body in regards to an omnipresent, artificial entity that can fulfill even the most base of human needs and desires.  As should be little surprise, Cronenberg takes lens in Naked Lunch and spins a web of insanity relating to some absurd hybrid of drug culture and repressed heterosexuality.  What comes out of his cauldron of visions is a film that is parts Terry Gilliam and Ken Russell, engaging the very fabric of human life and its fractured psyche during a state of dependence that parallels nicely with the narrative of Linklater's A Scanner Darkly which provides for yet another layer of fitting parallels, in that both manage to perfectly adapt rather dense and challenging texts from equally prolific authors into a world all their own, using similar metaphors and messages to paint their facsimile of society in such a way that it is entirely implausible to the point of viewers finding safe detachment, while also being incredibly prescient and a cause for very real feels of discontent and dismay.

Naked Lunch is set inconceivably in fifties era New York and follows the life of exterminator Bill Lee (Peter Weller), a rather interesting job in the context of this world considering that both bugs, as well as particular pesticides prove to be highly addictive drugs, so much so that his girlfriend Joan (Judy Davis) is a strung out addict to bug powder herself, often stealing large quantities from Bill's work supply to get her fix, which, in turn, leads to his being fired from his job. Later that evening in an attempt to get people out of his house, Bill and Joan do a William Tell routine that involves him shooting a glass off of Joan's head, only for it to go awry and result in her being shot.  During an arrest related to his assumed murder Bill begins his own hallucinations as a result of repeated work around bug powder, where in he sees a large insect who informs him that he is to be a secret agent in a alternate world known as Inter Zone where he will serve as a writer for the various alien-like bugs that inhabit the world.  During his work for a particular bug, one named Clark Nova, after the typewriter which it manifests itself though, Bill is told that he is to find one Dr. Benway (Roy Scheider), an endeavor that leads him to meeting doppleganger of his deceased wife.  As this navigation towards Dr. Benway continues, Bill comes to realize that the entirity of Inter Zone, as well as its extended alternate universe Annexia are riddle with drug addicted individuals, many of which actively engage in gay relationships, and that a larger narcotics trade orbits around the trafficking of a particular bug based drug known as "black meat."  Of course, getting to the center of the issues is far from simple, particularly since Bill himself is navigating various drug induced trips, yet after a constant shifting of mind states, he eventually comes to realize that it is indeed Dr. Benway who is the veritable kingpin of the narcotics pushing and in an attempt to flee to Annexia, he, as well as the doppleganger of Joan, is stopped by border police, also dopplegangers of previous characters themselves who demand that Bill prove he is a writer.   After pulling a pen out of his pocket as evidence, Bill, for no obvious reason, recreates the William Tell accident from earlier, thus bring the acid trip of a film full circle and Bill no closer to a sort of meaning and happiness he so clearly seeks throughout.

Much like other Cronenberg films, the narrative and its visual stylings seem to have a particular fascination with flesh, penetration and the seemingly inextricable connection between the mind and body as it relates to identity and survival.  This cinematic theme within Cronenberg's films furthermore always seems to have a psychosexual layer added as well, one of invasion and intrusion that is made all the more grotesque by the perfectly disgusting creatures that Cronenberg's crew makes for his films.  While I know I am not going to do any justice to this thematically, I feel it necessary to talk about the particularly unusual way in which the psychosexual elements relate to homosexuality between males.  Much like Barton Fink, the film has a drifting writer character to seems to be struggling with something larger than himself that is forcefully and unsuccessfully being repressed only to blow apart in troubling and destructive ways.  I would argue that both the character of Barton, as well as Bill are dealing with their respective oppressed sexualities, ones that are necessariliy oppressed for fear of violence and desertion from society.  In Cronenberg's film, this repression means that Bill must shack up with a drug addicted woman who he "accidentally" kills not out of malice, but out of a desperate hope to escape to something desirable, an escape he and the other openly gay characters of the film seem to pursue via wild hallucinogenics.  The escape only proves mildly beneficial for Bill, in that he is arguably surrounded by other gay males, although the price is pretty severe because the various drugs essentially allow for his feuding id and superego to go unchecked resulting in some bizarre drug induced visions. Of course the image that will be easy to pick up to the non-Freudian thinking viewer will undoubtedly be that of the various writers and other figures suckling at the flaccid stem of the white bug hoping to receive the liquid that emerges upon the completion of "good writing," which, of course, extends to include a good sexual performance as well.  Bill while madly struggling to repress his feelings cannot help but desire this secretion, much as he cannot change his desire for other men.  Of course, there is also the bug whose back, and apparent form of communication very much resemble the anus, suggesting a point of sexual pleasure, as well as verbal interaction whose implications both within the context of sexuality and Freudian psychology are many and multifaceted.

Key Scene:  The bug farm scene and the revelation of Dr. Benway's disguise are a fitting way to bring this narrative to a near close and defy all the logic in the film, which was minimal to begin with.

This is an excellent film and Criterion has recently put out a bluray, I would strongly encourage obtaining a copy when finances allow you to do so.

Too Much Perfection Is A Mistake: El Topo (1970)

When I discovered during my initial research that there was a sub-genre of revisionist westerns referred to as acid westerns, I knew that at least one of these works would need to be included in my blog this month.  At first I was unsure which direction to go with this as many of the "acclaimed" acid westerns seemed to merely be a film that blows the lid of the styling of the spaghetti western, while providing a critique of the sixties, so to a degree films like Easy Rider and Sam Peckinpah's works would make the cut.  However, I by chance alone glanced at my Alejandro Jodorowsky box set which was collecting dust on my DVD shelf and remembered that he had made a film called El Topo, for which I had managed yet to catch up with at any point.  Upon brief research I realized that in some circles El Topo is considered the greatest moment in the acid western, a completely fresh appropriation of the spaghetti western excess, paired with a hero's quest for identity.  In one full and wild stroke, Jodorowsky manages to make a work that is a harsh reflection of the problematic nature of authority within the context of sixties Mexico, while creating a film that aside from being a western, is also a passion play, a coming of age tale, a spirit quest and even a horror film to varying degrees.  I have often considered that no director could pickup the revolutionary narrative workings and trenchantly surrealist film making style of the great Luis Bunuel, without it appearing contrived or pretentious.  I am now fully willing to afford an exception to Jodorowsky.  Prior to seeing El Topo I was only familiar with his works Fando Y Lis, and what is considered his master work Santa Sangre.  About fifteen minutes into El Topo I realized that I had discovered my new favorite work by the director, and a new found faith in the possibilities of truly surrealist film making. There are a lot of moments with El Topo that are visually challenging and baffling, which at first glance appear to be completely incoherent and detached from one another, yet something happens in the films "second" act that makes the absurdity become poetically realized.  Between bouts of uncontrollable laughter and moments of truly cringe inducing visual offerings, I wish every filmmaker cared about their work with as much compassion as Jodorowsky proves to, even if it all seems tied to some terribly troubled parental figures.  To Jodorowsky the western, and all of cinema, only serve as a brief respite from reality, and even in that moment of escapism, reality must be acknowledged in all its glorious brutality.

As noted the film is decidedly divided into two sections, although the title cards lifted from biblical references such as Genesis and Psalms, do little to clearly delineate the separation, an even more so induced by clear setting shifts.  Nonetheless, the first half focuses on the travels of El Topo (Alejandro Jodorowsky) as he takes his naked son through the Mexican deserts in the search of four accomplished gunmen, along the way meeting a group of bandits who have recently taken it upon themselves to pillage a Franciscan monastery with the hopes bedding a girl with whom their leader is currently sleeping.  El Topo emerges to destroy these various members, as well as the general with the intent of taking the woman and leaving his son to live with the remaining monks.  After this abandonment, El Topo takes on the four gunmen, each having their respective eccentricities and quirks, like one man believing that he has perfected a way for his body to prepare for any incoming bullet, while another believes his raising of rabbits and handcrafted gun have led to his own perfection that assures each bullet will be a fatal blow.  The last one, indeed, refuses to fight El Topo, but in a moment of genius El Topo convinces him to take his own life, thus affirming him as the master gunslinger of the area, yet, his reign is cut short, when he returns to the woman he has taken, only to be gunned down by another female lover she has undertaken in El Topo's repeated absence.  All of this, of course, only captures the first half of the film, the second considers the experiences of El Topo, now awaken in an underground cave with paled skin and whitened hair, only to discover himself the demigod of a group of deformed persons living in the cave, completely castaway from a wealthy and decadent village living above the ground.  Recruiting the help of a dwarf woman, for whom he adores, El Topo begins a plan of digging out a tunnel, while begging for supplies to expedite the process, with the hopes that upon escape the crippled and deformed individuals can simply integrate into the city.  Meanwhile, the city is visited by a traveling monk who instantly dismisses their life of cultist excess, hoping, instead; seeing a possibility in helping the underground colony, yet when he realizes that El Topo is his father, it is drawn to attention that the monk is indeed his abandoned son, who vows to kill him upon the completion of the tunnel.  Yet when the tunnel is completed, El Topo flees with his followers to the city, only to be gunned down in the moment, while his dwarf lover gives birth to a child.  El Topo's son the monk now rides off with the new child, and a near duplication of the film's opening shot occurs, suggesting an absurd and futile cycle.

El Topo is so many amazing things wrapped into a surprisingly taut two hours.  One could walk away from this film and debate it as a psychoanalytic nightmare of abandonment, or as one of the most introspective considerations of Jesus Christ's last days and to a heavy degree be correct.  What Jodorowsky does within El Topo is take the very lose strictures of the revisionist western and use them to set into motion a deeply focused critique on any form of oppression humanly imaginable.  This is key, because one of the biggest issues I find myself struggling with as I go through this marathon is the decided denial of otherness with the western genre, sure, women, persons of color and native populations receive screen time within the genre, but it is quite often purely for narrative continuity and done so with forced subservience on their part.  El Topo rejects all authoritative figures within this text, whether it be a general who dons his costume much in the same way that a drag performer would don their wig and makeup.  In this moment it is quite possible that Jodorowsky wants to suggest that the only difference between a person in power and a peasant is the garb worn, the authoritative signifiers such as a medal or plumed hat becoming useless once removed.  The same could certainly hold true for the foolish looking sheriffs in the town of the second act, whose badges, while felt, nonetheless, represent the law, therefore, allowing them to exact law as they see fit, even in their incredibly violent and prejudiced manner.  Other examples of this occur in regards to religious figures, bourgeois women and even in the character of El Topo, who must struggle with his gender privilege while traveling with the woman in the first act, just as he repeatedly fails to reject his demigod status throughout the second act.  All of this expands nicely to consider the eye within the triangle cult symbol that seems to exact ultimate authority over the narrative.  The panoptic gaze of this eye causes even those in the most oppressed of situations to accept their role, out of a fear that this ever present element of surveillance will capture their slightest divergence from preordained roles.  Indeed, it is only the underground community who is unaware of this cult-like fear, yet when they emerge from their cage to the light of realization, unlike Plato's allegory where enlightentment is achieved, here in the disparate world of El Topo death comes synonymous with "seeing the light."

Key Scene:  While there are easily tons to go with, I was partial to the sand and sex scene, it is cinematically profound and challenging both on a compositional and theoretical level.

This boxset is a wonderful item, unfortunately, in the recent bluray upgrade it managed not to obtain all the films.  As such, for expense reasons I would suggest going with the single disc bluray, although the DVD boxset does include soundtracks.

The Dead Don't Dream: Tristana (1970)

As it stands, Luis Buñuel is now my favorite director, not to be confused with my favorite film, which will likely always be Do The Right Thing, however, unlike Lee, I find myself entirely engaged with every work offered by the late Spanish filmmaker, even if in some instances it is in a frustrating and problematic manner.  Buñuel, one of the premier figures in the surrealist movement, went on to make a ton of movies during his controversial career, being forced to move between countries to avoid arrest, death and what proved to be an inevitable excommunication from the Catholic Church, which after a quick internet search proves to be a rather difficult task to assure.  Buñuel for all his problematic images of fetishization and sexuality as it relates to authoritative, particularly religious, oppression, has emerged to exist on the same level of controversy with the likes of Jean-Luc Godard and the late Pier Paulo Passolini, yet where the former went entirely political, while the latter went absolutely shock value, Buñuel exists in a perfect and beautiful medium between both, a focal point which afforded him the ability to be both scathingly critical of his countries fascist ties, while also playfully considering the ways in which his film's characters undermined or rejected such authoritative figureheads.  Of course, I could go on for days praising Buñuel for his entrenchment within the surrealist notion of constant revolution, however, his inclusion in the last days of my month of women in film blog posts is not for his concern with authority as it relates to politics or religious oppression, but for his unusual and often negative consideration of women within his films.  I do not mean this to entirely dismiss Buñuel as a director, because I am rather aware of the ways in which he uses the feminine and fetishizing of the female body as a point of reference, with which to further study displacement of failure and frustration, yet he does exploit the women in his films, all be it, playfully and ironically, nonetheless, it is to be noted and critiqued, and Tristana is certainly a magnificent point of reference for such discussions.


Tristana, as the film suggests, follows the title character of Tristana (Catherine Deneuve) an orphan whose recent loss of her husband has placed her into a state of constant mourning, much to the concern and curiosity of her adoptive father Don Lope (Fernando Rey) who sees the young Tristana not only has his very real daughter, but, simultaneously, as a burgeoning sexual figure with whom he can place his own desires and hopes for sexual gratification.  Confused, and, frankly, a bit disgusted by Don Lope's advances, Tristana affirms her own desires to be an independent woman and attempts to seek a self and identity outside of Don Lope's gaze, something that initially leads to her meeting with a young, charming painter named Horacio (Franco Nero) who takes an instant liking to the ethereal Tristana and eventually proposes marriage to her, to which Tristana clearly wishes to say yes.  Unfortunately, the presence of Don Lope is impossible to ignore and eventually agrees to mary Don Lope, ostensibly becoming his adoptive daughter and legal wife.  Along the way Tristana falls ill with a disease the results in the loss of her leg, much to the delight of Don Lope who seems to find her handicap bizarrely arousing, and despite her continued attempts to remind Don Lope that she would rather be with some one else, Horacio, in particular, although at one point in the narrative it is clear she will branch out with others if it means avoiding Don Lope.  However, the power and authority of Don Lope proves to grand to conquer and Tristana submits to his elderly authority, however, when he falls ill and is bed-ridden Tristan quickly seizes the opportunity to open windows in the house, thus allowing for cold air to take over the space, only heightening Don Lope's sickness which assumedly leads to his death.  In no moment of lost irony, the dream heavy film closes with a montage of memories, considering and undermining the entire filmic narrative and its assumed reality.

I mention Buñuel is an interesting director to consider when one discussed women in film, particularly since they seem to always possess a problematic role within his works, whether it be their treacherous and influential sexuality in his early surrealist works, or their religious purity as a point of intense desire, as occurs minimally in something like Diary of a Chambermaid, but blows to incomprehensible means in Viridiana.  Even in his other work starring Deneueve, Belle de Jour from a few years earlier, it appears as though he is not quite willing to give a female a space of absolute control or rejection of the patriarchy, although the very means with which the brothel operates and allows its women to navigate spaces, undoubtedly undermines this notion.  Tristana is not completely void of gendered criticism, the most blatant being Tristana's seeming objectification on the part of Horacio and Don Lupe who seem to use her as an object in their own game of strategy to outwit one another, Horacio using his youthful vigor to his advantage, while Don Lupe clearly relies on years of experience and its mental advantages. Tristana simply seems to set aside contently and await for a victor to emerge.  Furthermore, when Tristan becomes an amputee it certainly seems to suggest a degree of fetishization in her otherness, although another reading could see it as a brilliant visual metaphor for the fear of castration or the female lack, as both relate to psychoanalytic theory, particularly in the context of film.  However, these problems seem particularly irrelevant when I reflect on this killing of the patriarchy within the context of the film, Tristana actively makes a choice to destroy her oppressor, even if it is through a slow disease based methodology, culturally speaking, the traditional means of murder for women, often emerging in the form of poison.  While Tristana has its problems, it is certainly the only film in Buñuel's oeuvre, for which I can recall, that does not end in the destruction of a female, but, instead; the complete opposite occurs.

Key Scene:  The bell ringing nightmare is surrealist intensity at is most realized and is perhaps the obvious Buñuelian moment in the film

A new film distributor known as Cohen Films has come to my attention for this bluray, and while their clear stealing of an image and style from Criterion is a bit bothersome, this Tristana transfer is fantastic and certainly worth owning.

I Am Beginning To Realize I Don't Realize What I Am Saying: Simon Of The Desert (1965)

There is seriously something about Bunuel's more heavily religious films that makes me think I am really overlooking elements of Christianity that can be both deeply philosophical and contentious.  If Simon of the Desert, one of Bunuel's black and white work from the sixties is not a dark horse for his most surreal film, it is certainly the winner for his most semantic.  Sure he made The Milky Way which uses words from the bible, catechism and theological debates to frame nearly all of its narrative, but something about a guy justifying his standing on a pillar in the desert for no apparent reason other than to suffer, makes for some great dialogue, especially when he finds opposition from not only a feminine devil, but from fellow clergymen as well.  I can imagine that this is one of the main films Bunuel received criticism for and a reflection of the reason he was, for quite sometime, banned from Spain.  An ignorant and intentionally repressed reading of this film would lead an viewer to think that Bunuel was outright mocking all forms of penance and fasting, however, that is simply not the case.  Instead, a film like Simon of the Desert exists to consider the purpose and validity of sacrifice, especially when it is raised upon a literal pedestal and appears to have no value beyond personifying piety.  In the matter of forty or so minutes, Bunuel deconstructs an entire characters existence, suggesting that even though he resides upon a religious throne, he is prone to the same failings as a lesser being, or in the rhetoric of this film a sinner.  It would also appears, in the opening scenes that one could only creatively shoot around a large pillar so many ways before repeating, yet Bunuel, along with Gabriel Figueroa make the stone object serve as a variety of metaphors and memories throughout the brief satire, and knowing that the two worked on The Exterminating Angel only years earlier helps to ground its explosive surrealist tendencies, yet like the namesake of the film, notions of elevation and groundedness constantly battle narratively and visually throughout the film.

Simon of the Desert centers on a fictional rethinking of a real life saint named Simeon Stylites who spent 39 years of his life sitting on a pillar as an act of devotion to God.  His particular form of penance known as asceticism, in which one engages in severe self-sacrifice as a devotion to God.  In the film, Simeon (Claudio Brook) is only engaging in the act for six years, six months and six days, a not so sly stab on the part of Bunuel.  His act has led him to become a point of prayer for locals who see him as a miracle worker, at one point literally healing the missing hands of a farmer.  However, his recent rewarding of a higher pillar by a gracious town elite, leads to his flailing and doubting about his own relationship with God.  Furthermore, the accidental gazing upon a woman by a praying monk leads to Simeon's own temptations with the flesh, longings that manifest themselves in a wish to return to the care of his mother, as well as consume lavish and non-sustaining foods.  Along with his own personal struggles emerges The Devil (Silvia Pinal) who tempts Simeon with actions of the flesh, dressing in fetishized outfits and even offering its nude body to the stalwart Simeon.  Unfortunately, no amount of dedication or penance can seem to get Simeon to retain his original focus.  Even after trying to stand on one leg, Simeon begins to lose his credibility.  His followers mock his statements as they become more and more illogical and his own visions begin to fail miserably, he starts seeing images of The Devil in the nude and it is upon her eventual arrival in a casket that Simeon falls apart.  He sees the arrival of an airplane which whisks the two of them into modernity as they sit in a hip psychedelic club watching young people dance to a song aptly titled "Radioactive Flesh."  Simeon has failed to maintain his piety and now resides in a moment of frenzy and physicality that will only lead to his impending unhappiness.  In brilliant Bunuel fashion, this absurd closing bookends the film with no explanation and no logic, in what his friends of youth would have called and "ultimate surrealist act."

While the explanation is certainly up for analysis and a point of ambiguity within the film, it is much more important to consider the meaning of the pillar, after all I realized it to be the most important aspect of the film.  The obvious go to for the surrealist element is the phallic nature of the film, after all it begins with Simeon being provided a larger pole to stand on, clearly a means of sexual identity.  Yet, it is the notion that the ascetic becomes attached to desires of the flesh that affirm this possible reading.  He cannot engage in sexual conquest do to oath, as such the large pillar represents his affirmation of power, in a metaphorical sense.  I will note that I have had some loving criticism as to my constant reference to psychoanalysis here on the blog, so I will offer other interpretations as well.  Another possibility comes when discussing tradition.  Bunuel clearly considers what role such a form of penance has in 1965 when luxury and visibility are much easier obtained than in the 4th century.  The pillar a clear hearkening back to ancient times serves as Simeon's attachment to the past, one that would reward his seemingly illogical act, yet he cannot escape the frenetic and non-stoic nature of modernity, as the films closing could suggest.  The third possibility is that the pillar is a performance piece, in which a man of rather lacking faith uses an object to literally heighten his importance.  Aside from curing the sick, an act that is never fully of his doing, Simeon does little to aid people directly, instead he relishes in his superiority and falsely earned admiration.  He places himself in an elevated stature to avoid actually helping those on the ground, yet his own foolishness leads him back to the bottom as the film ultimately depicts.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Simeon is laying in his mothers lap while the back ground depicts a shot of Simeon simultaneously standing on the pillar, it is surrealism 101, yet in the hands of Bunuel it is magic.

This is a great film one of Bunuel's lesser known works that is available both on Huluplus and in DVD from Criterion.  Pick either and here is to you enjoying it as much as I did.

But She Isn't Going To Say Anything, Is She?: Dial M For Murder (1954)

I am beginning to think, after watching so many Alfred Hitchcock films that the man had to have murdered a few people in his illustrious life.  As is the case with Dial M For Murder, as well as so many of the autuer's other works, the execution of the perfect crime seems to be a topic of great concern for Hitchcock, and while this work in particular is based on a play, it, nonetheless, finds itself filled with various influences from the master of suspense.  Furthermore, I am fully aware that this particular Hitchcock film is not exactly the most entrenched within the horror genre, but I feel quite strongly that this landmark in cinema still packs in enough suspense to deserve mention this month on the blog, not to mention it is one of the Hitchcock films that I had not seen prior and I am always ready to move through more of his oeuvre.  A film that is based on a play is nothing new, but in Hitchcock's hands, the performance and setting aspects of the film become heightened considerably, he, as a director, is keen to pay homage to the play by setting the opening shots in a frozen manner, suggesting the opening of a scene right after the curtain has raised.  Furthermore, in a manner that has become Hitchcockian in its execution, the film manages to take actions and items within the plot and drastically change their meaning and representation to the audience once the plot thickens a bit, and as many a film scholar know, one cannot watch a Hitchcock film with out considering the deluge of various Freudian implications latent to any of his works.  Essentially when viewing a work by Alfred Hitchcock you can be assured that plot, acting and miss-en-scene will come together in a masterful way and provide a film that magnetically pulls you towards whatever screen you are watching the work and Dial M For Murder is certainly no exception to this idea.

Dial M for Murder's central figure is Tony Wendice (Ray Milland) a former tennis player who has retired from the game and is living rather comfortably of the wealth of his wife Margot (Grace Kelly) and appears content to do so, if it were not for his knowledge of an intimate affair Margot is engaged in with a former American beau named Mark Halliday (Robert Cummings).  Playing oblivious to the involvement between the two lovers, Tony plans an elaborate ploy to get both himself and Mark away from Margot, ultimately, intending to murder his wife.  However, realizing that his motives would be rather clear Tony calls upon a former college mate named Charles Swann (Anthony Dawson), in trouble with authorities for identity fraud and various forms of theft, all aimed at paying up his serious gambling debts.  Tony explains in great detail how he has planned the perfect crime for Charles to commit and that if he is willing to undertake the task he will be handsomely rewarded.  At first hesitant to do so, Charles attempts to counter Tony by threatening to turn him into the police, yet as Tony points out through various actions Charles has undertaken just by walking in the door, it would be in his better interest just to go through with the murder, because he as already set him up for trouble if he refuses.  Begrudgingly agreeing to the task, Charles goes through with the murder, however, in a moment of hesitance Margot reacts to the attack by Charles causing him to fall fatally on a pair of scissors, resulting in his death, as opposed to Margot's.  Frantic, Tony returns home to attempt to cover up his involvement in the entire course of events, suffice to say no matter how much practical planning Tony can go through certain things cannot be foreseen, such as the logical capabilities of those involved with the case, as well as occurrences within nature that lend to the emergence of one or another form of evidence.  In the end a perfect crime is impossible within the narrative of Dial M for Murder, because at some point a fact will not match up with the lie that is ultimately being told.

I mentioned the Freudian implications latent within Dial M for Murder and as I have attested multiple times on this blog I am by no means versed in my psychoanalytic theory, however, watching Dial M for Murder has made me want to uncover some of the film theory surrounding Hitchcock specifically, meaning of course that I will attempt to crack into some heavy Zizek in the upcoming months.  However, at the moment I can make a few observations of Freudian influence within the film, firstly, the notion of impotence manifests itself quite blatantly in this film, at the onset Tony is a man who is scorned by his lover, causing him to feel a strong degree of impotence, Hitchcock brilliantly provides the character with a cane as a visual metaphor for his lack of sexual drive.  However, notice the disappearance of this cane upon Tony's believe that he has succeeded in killing his wife, all be it a bit backhandedly.  The impotence, at least metaphorically disappears and he is able to exert his masculine zeal again.  One could also read Tony has being a character with a degree of homosexual desire, whether it be his unusual attachment to Charles or the way in which he robotically deals with Margot by way of affection.  Even Charles, who is relatively minimal to the plot has his moment of phallic pride when he is shown in a picture with Tony, smoking the "biggest cigar in the room," a clear reference to penis size and envy surrounding such rhetoric.  In this picture, Hitchcock never one to shy away from metaphor, the cigar referenced is truly something to be seen.  Finally, much could be said about a certain affixation with one's facial hair in the films closing scenes, but that is an entirely new critical approach all its own.

Key Scene:  Margot's trial scene is rather surreal and minimalist, but probably the most intense moment of the film.

Dial M for Murder is a classic, I would suggest purchasing the film, but if you are anything like me you probably want to get the huge bluray boxset that has just been released, so waiting is certainly justified.

Here’s A Killer Who Understands Bureaucracy: The Poughkeepsie Tapes (2007)

The deluge of found footage films has produced a mixed bag of films over the past decade or so, with highlights including The Blair Witch Project and the Paranormal Activity franchise.  This fascination with discovered footage has proved to be a fascinating source of narrative material for a fictional approach to filmmaking and seems to be a fad that will continue for at least another few years.  However, in 2007 the Dowdle Brothers released a fake documentary about a psychologically depraved serial killer that has forever changed my understanding of what is possible with not only a found footage film, but also horror movies as a whole.  The understanding of the affects proper editing, narrative delivery and cinematic composition can have on the human psyche are  apparent in the Dowdle’s work as viewers are both captivated and disturbed by the film.  It is a film that truly stands on its own as a psychological thriller on a low-budget, and between its gritty realism and absurdly sadistic killer it will have you checking the corners of your house and behind the shower curtain for many days.  Not to mention you will never look at blurry VHS images the same way again.

As noted, the film is set up as a pseudo-documentary in which the police have discovered nearly a thousand tapes shot by a serial killer to recording everything from his sexual fetishes to his grotesque torture and murdering of women.  This then fuels the narrative of the documentary which focuses on an unnamed man who begins his serial killing by kidnapping and murdering an eight year old girl and upon doing so he realizes that he is not only excellent and murder and torture, but that he thoroughly enjoys engaging in the behavior.  The killer continues on to kill a couple who stop to help him with assumed car trouble and the psychotic killer is so deranged that he takes the husband’s head and places it in the stomach of the woman.  These discoveries are intertwined with police, FBI, psychologist and forensic scientists commentaries of the events many of which leave the experts baffled, particularly the killers fascination with a particular woman named Cheryl Dempsey.  As the commentators note, the killer takes a particular fascination with Cheryl and stalks her at length before breaking into her parents house to both kidnap her and killer her boyfriend and of course all of these events are shown in the killers recordings.  It is then shown that the killer debases Cheryl through torture and mutilation causing her to become almost slave like to his every demand.  Realizing the media attention he is receiving the killer decides to change his modus operandi, but manages to have a one-on-one confrontation with Cheryl’s mom, in which he offers help to find Cheryl.  Before Cheryl’s mom can stop the killer he flees from the scene chuckling maniacally.  The killer now takes up killing prostitutes while continuing to torture Cheryl, which includes making her don medieval garb and a bizarre rubber mask that is only topped by the killer’s own disturbing bird skull mask.  The killer becomes so good at killing prostitutes that he is also capable of tricking investigators into believing that the killer is indeed a police officer named James Foley, who while innocent is incapable of providing an alibi and is eventually a victim of the death penalty.  Upon the death of James, the killer sends a map to the police labeled with the words “missed one” and the location of another body, implying that James had nothing to do with any of the killings in which he was punished.  Tragically, James is cleared of all charges posthumously, however, these events are overshadowed by the attacks on 9/11.  The film then cuts to the discovery of the murderers house and his tapes.  This seems to be a rather calm incident until the SWAT team opens a crate to find the body of Cheryl clinging to the last threads of life.  In perhaps the most haunting scene of the film the documentary interviews Cheryl who is incapable of doing anything but stating “what do you want me to say” to the interviewer, a clear sign of the mental damage caused by her captor.  Viewers are then informed that Cheryl killed herself shortly after the interview and within weeks her grave had been pillaged and her body remains missing.  The film closes with experts discussing the very real fact that the killer is still on the loose and that of the large collection of footage twenty-seven tapes remain missing and they can only speculate as to the reasons why the killer kept them in his possession.  One expert also states that they should keep an eye out as to where the documentary is shown, because he is certain the killer will be unable to resist seeing his own “art” played on screen.

The film is brilliant first and foremost for its fresh and disconcerting approach to horror filmmaking.  It is apparent, but subtle, that the Dowdle’s are pulling their inspiration from decades of horror films.  When I say this I do not simply mean American films, but foreign horror films as well.  It is easy to pick up the influences from such horror films as Rosemary’s Baby, Eyes Without A Face and Audition, as well as an understanding of horrific imagery as it relates to cinema as a whole.  Each extreme angle and blurry shot adds an affect of uncertainty that makes the film almost unwatchable due to its blatantly disturbing nature.  However, the film is also an incredible stud of the problems faced by investigators and government when trying to catch a killer that works so craftily within a convoluted justice system.  The killer, as the experts note in the film, understands that by severing bodies and dumping them in separate counties that it will increase the investigation process exponentially.  However, he is also clever enough to pray on victims who already work outside of the law, such as prostitutes, because he realizes that a demand for social justice will be far less for these women than an average person.  Furthermore, the killer is so deranged that he is incapable of committing similar murders and often kills out of rage, yet at other times his murders are quite premeditated.  This constantly shifting murder streak causes the FBI to fail miserably at profiling the killer, because his methods are so complex that it spurs one agent to state that the man most likely works for them.  Finally, and perhaps my favorite factor in this film is its narrative choice.  Most found footage films preoccupy themselves with focusing on a paranormal entity, whether it be demonic or spectral and while this is fine, it certainly results in a sense of detachment when viewing.  It is nearly impossible to detach yourself from the seeming authenticity of this film and this factor makes the film all the more disturbing, not to mention the multiple layers of criticism in which a feminist theorist like Laura Mulvey could provide.  However, that is a heavy bit of theory that I would rather not cloud this review with, but in the future expect an article on it somewhere.

The Poughkeepsie Tapes is currently in a limbo and has yet to be released on any physical format.  Netflix currently has a copy in its saved queue, but it could be sometime before we see a mainstream release.  However, if you search Youtube or other media sharing websites it should be rather easy to find a copy.  My only piece of advice for viewing this one is to stick around after the credits, trust me it is probably the best scene of the entire movie.

Freudian Slips, Hysteria and Cross-Dressing Incest: Unconscious (2004)

I have done a rather large amount of research in Spanish cinema, or at least enough to know that post-Franco cinema Spanish cinema is preoccupied with sexuality, the more perverse the better.  This is blatant in the final works of Luis Bunuel and most every work of Pedro Almodovar.  However, even lesser known Spanish filmmakers fill their movies with sexual innuendos, homosexuality and rampant perversity.  Joaquin Oristrell's Unconscious is perhaps one of the more cinematically sound examples.  It is a comedy, thriller, romance, period piece all mangled together to create a film very reminiscent of the work of Jean-Pierre Jeunet.  The film, while complicated, never becomes burdensome and actually warmly welcomes its viewers to partake in a murder mystery without becoming preoccupied with its complexities.

Unconscious takes place in early 20th century Spain, which, like the rest of Europe, was enamored with all things psychoanalytical, particularly in regards to human sexuality.  The film focuses on Alma (Leonar Watling) and her brother-in-law/love interest Salvador (Luis Tosar).  The duo, against Salvador's wishes, sets out to uncover the reason for the abrupt disappearance of Alma's husband Leon (Alex Brendemuhl).  What unfolds is a bizarre, sporadic and, dare I say, hysterical dive into all things sexually deviant.  While searching for Leon the Alma and Salvador witness acts of sadomasochism, homosexuality, and unknowing incest.  It comes to the attention of the duo that it is Leon's accidental act of incest upon Alma that led to his disappearance.  This break from society that allowed him to plot a murder of the great Sigmund Freud of who he blaims for bringing the "taboo" act into Leon's consciousness.  I will spare further details as it would likely ruin the films great flow and enjoyability, but the absurdity extends far beyond the previous sentences of explanation.

The film tackles issues of gender rather blatantly, particularly in regards to the notion of hysteria.  Alma is through much of the film pregnant, making her react brashly and without concern for others.  Salvador, and other characters, note her "hysterical" nature...a term that is used to denote the psychosis as distinctly female.  Ironically, Alma is the least feminine in a metaphorical and literal sense.  Salvador is often incapable of making quick decisions, fails to act logically and allows Alma to wield phallic objects in his place.  More so, her husband Leon cross-dresses and fantasizes of being a female, obviously blowing the entire notion of heteronormativity out the window.  It is a film that shows not only the pompous, nonsensical nature of psychoanalysis, but its inherent patriarchal structure as well.  It takes notions of feminine equality out of the unconscious and into the viewers' reality.

I have to thank my girlfriend for picking this film out from Netflix.  It was certainly a fun and gorgeous film to watch and I highly recommend renting it, but purchasing the film might only be necessary to fans of Spanish cinema.